Piero. Very fine,

I do protest, my lord.

Fut. Your lordship's ear

Shall share i' the plot.
Adur. As how?

Piero. You know, my lord,

Young Amoretta, old Trelcatio's daughter;
An honest man, but poor.

Fut. And, my good lord,

He that is honest must be poor, my lord;
It is a common rule.

Adur. Well,-Amoretta.

Pray, one at once-my knowledge is not much
Of her, instruct me.

Piero. Speak, Futelli.

Fut. Spare me.

Piero has the tongue more pregnant.

Piero. Nay, nay.

Adur. Well, keep your mirth, my dainty honeys;

agree

Some two days hence, till when

Piero. By any means,

Partake the sport, my lord; this thing of youth— Fut. Handsome enough, good face, quick eye, well bred.

Piero. Is yet possess'd so strangely

Fut. With a humour

Of thinking she deserves

Piero. A duke, a count,

At least a viscount, for her husband, that—

Fut. She scorns all mention of a match be

neath

One of the foresaid nobles; will not ride

In a caroch without eight horses.

Piero. Six

She may be drawn to; four

Fut. Are for the poor:

But for two horses in a coach

Piero. She says,

They're not for creatures of Heaven's making;

fitter

Fut. Fitter for litters to convey hounds in,
Than people Christian: yet herself-
Piero. Herself

Walks evermore a-foot, and knows not whether
A coach doth trot or amble-

Fut. But by hearsay.

Adur. Stop, gentlemen, you run a gallop both; Are out of breath sure: 't is a kind of compli

ment

Scarce enter'd to the times; but certainly

You coin a humour; let me understand
Deliberately your fancy.

Piero. In plain troth,

My lord, the she whom we describe is such,
And lives here, here in Genoa, this city,
This very city, now, the very now.
Adur. Trelcatio's daughter?

Fut. Has refused suitors

Of worthy rank, substantial and free parts,
Only for that they are not dukes, or counts ;
Yet she herself, with all her father's store,
Can hardly weigh above four hundred ducats.
Adur. Now, your design for sport?
Piero. Without prevention :

Guzman, the Spaniard late cashier'd, most gravely
Observes the full punctilios of his nation;

And him have we beleaguer'd to accost
This she-piece, under a pretence of being
Grandee of Spain, and cousin to twelve princes.
Fut. For rival unto whom we have engaged
Fulgoso, the rich coxcomb lately started

A gentleman out of a sutler's hut,

In the late Flemish wars; we have resolv'd him

He is descended from Pantagruel,

Of famous memory, by the father's side,
And by the mother from dame Fusti-Bunga.

Adur. You must abuse the maid,"

Beyond amends.

Fut. But countenance the course,

My lord, and it may chance, besides the mirth,
To work a reformation on the maiden:

Her father's leave is granted, and thanks promised;
Our ends are harmless trials.

Adur. I betray

No secrets of such use.

Piero and Fut. Your lordship's humblest.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

A Room in MALFATO's House.

Enter AURELIO and MALFATO.

Aurel. A melancholy, grounded, and resolv'd,
Received into a habit, argues love,

Or deep impression of strong discontents.
In cases of these rarities a friend,

Upon whose faith and confidence we may
Vent with security our grief, becomes
Ofttimes the best physician; for, admit
We find no remedy, we cannot miss
Advice instead of comfort; and believe,
It is an ease, Malfato, to disburthen

Our souls of secret clogs, where they may find
A rest in pity, though not in redress.

Mal. Let all this sense be yielded to.
Aurel. Perhaps

You measure what I say the common nature
Of an officious curiosity.

Mal. Not I, sir.

1 You must abuse the maid.] If must be not an error of the press for much, it is used here in the sense of-it cannot be but you abuse the maid beyond, &c.-GIFFORD.

VOL. II.-3

Aurel. Or that other private ends Sift your retirements.

Mal. Neither.

Enter FUTELLI.

Fut. Under favour,

Signor Malfato, I am sent to crave

Your leisure, for a word or two in private.
Mal. To me !-Your mind.

Fut. This letter will inform ye.

[Gives him the letter.

Mal. Letter? how 's this? what's here?

Fut. Speak you to me, sir?

Mal. Brave riddle! I'll endeavour to unfold it:
Aurel. How fares the lord Adurni?

Fut. Sure in health, sir.

Aurel. He is a noble gentleman, withal
Happy in his endeavours: the general voice
Sounds him for courtesy, behaviour, language,
And every fair demeanour, an example;
Titles of honour add not to his worth,
Who is himself an honour to his titles.

Mal. You know from whence this comes?
Fut. I do.

Mal. D'ye laugh!

But that I must consider such as spaniels

To those who feed and clothe them, I would print
Upon thy forehead thy foul errand :-there!

[Throws him the letter.
Bear back that paper to the hell from whence
It gave thee thy directions! tell this lord,
He ventured on a foolish policy,

In aiming at the scandal of my blood;
The trick is childish, base,-say base.
Fut. You wrong him.

Aurel. Be wise, Malfato.

Mal. Say, I know this false one.
She who sent this temptation was wife
To his abused servant; and divorced

From poor Benatzi, senseless of the wrongз,
That madam Levidolche and Adurni
Might revel in their sports without control,
Secure, uncheck'd.

Aurel. You range too wildly now,

Are too much inconsiderate.
Mal. I am

A gentleman free born, I never wore

The rags of any great man's looks, nor fed
Upon their after-meals; I never crouch'd
Unto the offal of an office promised

(Reward for long attendance), and then miss'd.
I read no difference between this huge,

This monstrous big word lord, and gentleman,
More than the title sounds; for aught I learn,
The latter is as noble as the first,

I am sure more ancient.

Aurel. Let me tell you, then,

You are too bitter, talk you know not what.
Make all men equals, and confound all course
Of order, and of nature! this is madness.

Mal. 'Tis so; and I have reason to be mad,
Reason, Aurelio, by my truth and hopes.
This wit Futelli brings a suit of love
From Levidolche, one, however mask'd
In colourable privacy, is famed

The lord Adurni's pensioner, at least.
Am I a husband pick'd out for a strumpet?
For a cast suit of harlotry? Aurelio,
You are as I am,' you could ill digest
The trial of a patience so unfit.-

Begone, Futelli, do not mince one syllable
Of what you hear; another fetch like this
May tempt a peace to rage: so say; begone!
Fut. I shall report your answer.

1

-Aurelio,

1

[Exit.

You are as I am, &c.] This expression, which is not uncommon in our old writers, means, "suppose you were,”-or rather, "put yourself -in my place," &c.-GIFFORD.